Leaving the Madness
by hello-rxze
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky has just finished his exhibition program: "Welcome to the Madness". However this time, Yuri wasn't alone on the ice; Otabek Altin assisted in the program's narrative, and is now waiting on the edge of the rink. What is the nature of this relationship budding between the Russian Punk and Hero of Kazakhstan?


Yuri Plisetsky lies center of the rink, hot skin meeting cool ice. Cheers erupted hesitantly from the audience abruptly awoken from its intense gaze upon the young champion. He rose, sitting up to acknowledge the adoring masses. Slowly standing to his feet, he skated a final graceful circle to face each section of the crowd, ending the sweep posing defiantly across from his assistant for the evening, Otabek Altin. Eyes locked with his, Otabek showed the smallest hint of a smile, inviting Yuri to join him outside of the rink. He skated over to the edge, bracing against his dear closest friend as his strength drained from his body, tired and grateful for the end of the exhausting exhibition program. Otabek assisted blonde boy off the rink, allowing Yuri to swing an arm around his shoulder and clutch his jacket as he placed his hand on Yuri's back.

A smug grin creeped onto the Russian Punk's face. There were a few people whose reactions he was dying to see. He imagined steam pouring out of Yakov's ears, face bright red. He imagined Lilia with a sharp disapproving glare, tapping her hideous pointy-toed heels on the floor. He imagined Viktor and that pig, equally embarrassed and proud of the impressive showman he'd become. Thinking of that ridiculous duo, the corner of Yuri's lip instinctively converted his smirk into an expression of frustration. Yuuri Katsuki's exhibition performance was the cheesiest display Yuri had seen in years. Bringing fan-favorite, gold-medalist, Viktor Nikiforov, Yuuri's own fiancé, onto the ice to skate the program beside him was the gaudiest, sparkliest most ridiculous publicity stunt Yuri Plisetsky had ever seen. That's why this exhibition was so important; that's why it was so important that Yuri change everything the night before.

The two had almost walked past the stands and were heading towards the changing room. Yuri, still heavily breathing, had almost forgotten to check the reaction of the young man at his side, the only one trusted to help with his program last night, during the performance, and right now. His eyes flicked to his right, gazing at Otabek, unaware until this moment how close their faces were.

"What'd you think?", Yuri asked, face frozen in a serious expression, searching for something in the older boy's warm brown eyes. Otabek tilted his chin toward the ceiling as if to stop himself from saying something. He still looked fairly stern as always, but then that faint smile returned to Otabek's face.

"You're entrancing."

That's all Otabek said, but his eyes revealed that he wanted to say more. Passing through the first doorway out of the huge arena, Yuri was thankful for the dimly lit hall that hid the pink blush painting his cheeks. The roar of the crowd faded out as they walked further, and the buzz of the fluorescent lighting overhead filled the room. Otabek stopped in place and looked to the door on his right, then back at Yuri. Yuri inferred this meant that he'd wait out here until he changed. Nodding silently, he broke away from Otabek. It hadn't occurred to him until just now; Otabek never let go of the light grip on his waist.

Now behind the heavy door and alone in the dressing room, Yuri felt safe to let out a deep sigh. The dressing room wasn't just a place to change out of casual clothes and out of skates; it was somewhere Yuri was free to think. He sat on the bench and reached for his clothes, a simple hoodie, black jeans and a t-shirt. The tie that held Yuri's hair in place let go after a few gentle tugs, letting the sweaty blonde clumps fall around his shoulders. Pulling off his shiny ensemble and changing into his clean outfit, he thought about the young man that waited patiently just outside the door. Otabek picked the program's music and was there with him every step of the way creating today's performance. Yuri couldn't help but grin thinking of the almost sleepless night he spent with Otabek yesterday designing the program. Sitting together, calmly collaborating, discussing and bouncing ideas off one another; Yuri realized just how important Otabek was to him. There had never been anyone else in Yuri's life that played a role similar to Otabek. Sure, other skaters had discussed programs with him before, and sure, he has other acquaintances. Yuri didn't hate Mila and the other Russian skaters, but they were just peers. Viktor was an inspiration, but got on his nerves often and was more of a teacher than friend. Yuuri Katsuki trained alongside him before, there's some sort of connection and competition between them, but Viktor's possessiveness of the Japanese skater, their age gap, and vastly different approaches to skating estranged any chance of a close friendship. Otabek was different. There was something about him that was understanding and never required correction. Maybe Yuri liked his cool, strong silence that balanced out his own hotheadedness; they never seemed to clash. Yuri placed his own hand on his back where Otabek's was just moments before, trying hopelessly to recreate the lost warm feeling. He had only known Otabek for a short time now, yet somehow he felt empty whenever they were apart. Yuri Plisetsky, only sixteen years old, had a major crush on "the Hero of Kazakhstan", Otabek Altin.

From outside the locker room Yuri could make out multiple voices speaking in a familiar language. It was a man and a woman speaking excitedly, seemingly asking questions. Then, Otabek spoke up; Yuri was only used to Otabek speaking in Russian, but his voice was just as easily recognizable in Kazakh. His voice was as deep and cool as ever, sounding even more natural and casual in his native language. Yuri held onto every foreign word. Otabek was answering the couple's questions when Yuri heard his own name come up in the conversation. The blonde Russian's heart fluttered with surprise at the sound of his name in a conversation of a different language. Yuri couldn't understand Kazakh, but he listened in for cognates or some hint at what Otabek was saying. He began lacing his boots furiously, uneasy that Otabek is talking about him aloud in a way that he can't decipher. He clenched his shirt, hoping that Otabek only had good things to say, but fearing that Otabek was really complaining about the brat Yuri knew he was.

His mind began to race. Otabek was his most important friend, he hoped Otabek liked him as much as he did. He hoped Otabek liked him the same _way_ he did. Yuri wanted to bust through the doors and demand that Otabek whisk him away on his motorcycle, but before he could, he heard the Kazakh couple scoot away and their voices get replaced by four very familiar ones.

"Where is he?" Lilia and Yakov pestered, overlapping in frustration. Otabek looked at the younger two of the group, Yuuri and Viktor, yet answered the two older.

"Already left."

Lilia and Yakov were easily fooled, turning and leaving in a huff. Yuri could hear the despicable clack of Lilia's shoes on the tile and Yakov's stomping fade out as they hurriedly continued further down the hall. Yuuri and Viktor weren't as easily fooled. Yuuri whispered something to Viktor, and Viktor flashed his million dollar smile at the young man sitting on the bench.

"Wonderful, isn't he?" Viktor said pleasantly in Russian while Yuuri stood by his side. "Ever since you two became friends he's pushed himself even harder. Thank you for inspiring him."

"Nice song choice" Yuuri remarked quickly in English before the two turned to leave. Yuuri then placed a hand on Otabek's shoulder, smiled, and waved as he led his fiancé away the same way they came.

Yuri's heart was pounding harder than before. _Was what Viktor said true? Was he pushing himself harder to impress Otabek? More importantly, was it obvious if he was?_ _His "Welcome to the Madness" routine definitely had him in mind..._

Yuri left the dressing room, performance wear folded in a bag slung over his shoulder. Otabek greeted Yuri with a cold sports drink from a nearby vending machine. Yuri graciously accepted the beverage, holding eye contact with his dear friend and allowing his fingers to slide over Otabek's as the can exchanged hands. Otabek breathed heavily out of his nose, almost forming a laugh, not breaking eye contact with the smaller skater. He stretched out a hand to Yuri's face, sliding his fingers through the other's long hair and resting them on the back of his head. The Russian froze with wide eyes; he was blushing again, and unaware of what Otabek was doing. Yuri's head was tilted up towards Otabek's; it took massive amounts of effort to stay still. Not breathing loudly in his friend's face and not killing the awkward, ambiguous mood was all Yuri could think about. A thumb wiped across Yuri's cheek, just below his eye. Slowly, Otabek pulled his hand away and turned his palm towards the shorter boy to reveal a completely blackened thumb.

"Do you want to wash your face before we go?"

Deep in thought and focussed on changing as quickly as possible for Otabek's sake, he had forgotten all about his thickly applied raccoon style eye makeup. The pair stopped in a restroom, Otabek patiently watching as Yuri scrubbed away the makeup. The Kazakh leaned against the wall next to the sink, staring off into the ceiling, trying to grasp the right words to say.

"Yuri Plisetsky, do I inspire you?" Otabek had always been a man of few words with a reserved, formal tone, yet now there was something about the way he asked that made him seem uneasy. He mimicked the words Viktor had used just minutes earlier in the hallway, showing that since then, these words had been on repeat in his mind. Yuri was dumbstruck; he never expected Otabek to ask a question like that and he never expected a reason to _answer_ a question like that. They stood facing each other, and Yuri's mind transported him back to Barcelona where Otabek formally asked him another pivotal question: " _Are you going to become friends with me or not?"_. Stuck in the moment, Yuri answered the exact same way he did before; he grasped Otabek's hand in a firm handshake and looked him in the eyes. Before Yuri had time to be embarrassed at the silly gesture he unknowingly executed, Otabek used the handshake to pull the both of them into a brief hug. Silently, both boys stood in understanding, shifting from awkward glances at their feet to eachother's eyes, letting go of the hug as quickly as it was initiated.

Still without a word, Otabek led the embarrassed blonde boy down through the halls and out into the sunlight towards his parked motorcycle. Helmets exchanged hands, _safety first_ , and the two fitted the clunky protective headwear. Otabek mounted the bike, scooting forward with just enough room for Yuri to climb on the back.

"You don't have anywhere to be, right?"

Yuri thought for a moment, knowing that any more time he spent away from his coaches and fellow Russian skaters just lengthened the harsh scolding he was going to get later. However, the last time he got to ride Otabek's motorcycle was weeks ago when the pair was chased by maniac fangirls, and the last time he didn't get to enjoy the moment as much as he would have liked.

"Doesn't matter. Yakov doesn't own me." This response made Otabek happy; apparently that's exactly what he wanted to hear. He extended a hand to help Yuri up onto the motorcycle just like he helped him off the ice after the exhibition. With a strong kick, the kickstand popped up into the bike and they were off.

Apparently Otabek hadn't scooted up as far in the seat as he did the first time they rode together, because this time Yuri didn't have room to grab the seat. Hesitant, Yuri weighed his options and carefully gripped the waist of Otabek's leather jacket. Surprised yet not unnerved, Otabek shifted at his touch but didn't show any visible sign of discomfort. Even with the helmet, Yuri's hair flicked all around his face. After getting poked in the eyes with his own blonde locks multiple times, he buried his face in the other boy's back to escape the wind. The cool leather against his cheek felt good, but it was being this close to Otabek that completed the unforgettable sweet feeling. Yuri was so immersed in the sights and sounds of his surroundings and the flutter he got from this intimacy that he never realized he had wrapped his arms tighter around Otabek. At a stoplight, the older boy in the leather jacket reached into his pocket and pulled out the glove he had removed from the younger's hand with his teeth.

"You probably want this back."

Yuri wanted to tell him, _"Keep it"_ , but he knew that'd be too much. He slid on the one glove as Otabek held it for him. Without warning, Otabek laced his fingers with Yuri's, gloved hands coming together, and pulled Yuri's hand up to his lips, placing a quick, gentle kiss on the back of his hand.

This was the nature of their relationship. The Russian Punk hadn't ever had a close friend before, and likewise never had feelings for someone like this before. There hadn't been someone for either boy that required so little conflict or discussion. Everything was easy and understood. That's why this exhibition was so important; that's why it was so important that Yuri change everything the night before. The exhibition was important because Otabek was important. Otabek chose the music for the program and also went out of his way to meet Yuri Plisetsky, the boy with the eyes of a soldier, to chose him as a friend. And now, it appears they have chosen to be something more.


End file.
